Red River Desperadoes

by James Reasoner

  Glidinghawk suddenly lifted his head. His keen ears had heard something, although he couldn't identify the sound over the noise of Arlie's yammering. He made a sharp slashing motion^ with his hand.

  Arlie fell silent with a frown, clearly not caring for the way Glidinghawk had interrupted him. Then the displeasure on his face was replaced by a look of concentration.

  "You hear it, too?" Glidinghawk asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

  Arlie nodded. "Somebody comin'," he said. It was hard for him to moderate his gravelly tones, but he tried.

  The sound of a horse came floating down the canyon. The animal was coming steadily toward them, not hurrying.

  Arlie grunted. "Probably just Dirk," he said, relaxing.

  "Dirk would have called out by now to let whoever was on guard know he was coming," Glidinghawk pointed out. "That's the rule, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, it is." Arlie's frown returned. "Reckon it must be somebody else. Either that, or somebody's got the drop on Dirk and is tryin' to get in with him as a hostage."

  "Why would anyone want to do that?"

  Arlie jerked a thumb toward the valley. "Ain't you got any idea what the whiskey stored back there is worth? Hell, there's a couple dozen full barrels there in the shack with the still. Some folks'd kill us all for a mess o' booze like that."

  Glidinghawk twisted slightly, altering his position so that he could poke the muzzle of the Winchester past the boulder. Arlie crouched down beside him, sliding his Colt from its holster. Both men waited as the sound of approaching hoofbeats grew steadily louder. The rider would be coming into view any second . . .

  He rode around a bend in the canyon, a tall lean man in a broad-brimmed, flat-crowned hat. He wore brown whipcord pants and a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up a turn. The legs of the pants were stuffed into high black boots. The man sat the saddle with the ease of a born rider.

  Glidinghawk knew the craggy face almost as well as he knew his own.

  Landrum Davis.

  Beside Glidinghawk, Arlie rumbled, "Who the hell is that?" and started to lift his gun.

  Several thoughts flashed through the Omaha's mind. Arlie was likely to shoot first and ask questions later, after he had put a slug into Landrum. Also, Arlie would probably be watching to see what Glidinghawk's reaction would be to this intrusion. He had to move rapidly, both to save Landrum's life and to maintain his cover identity.

  Snapping the Winchester to his shoulder, Glidinghawk called in a strong voice, "Sit easy, stranger, or I'll blow you right out of that saddle."

  Landrum reined in abruptly. Even at this distance, Glidinghawk could see the surprise on the Texan's face and knew that Landrum had recognized his voice. But he also seemed to catch on quickly. As soon as the horse came to a stop, Landrum lifted his hands to show that he was peaceful.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Glidinghawk could see Arlie watching him. He could not read the desperado's face, but at least Arlie had not opened fire on Landrum.

  "Keep 'im covered," Arlie snapped.

  Landrum raised his voice and said, "I'm not looking for trouble." His voice echoed in the narrow canyon. His eyes scanned the sides of the cut, trying to locate the person who had challenged him.

  "Ask him what he's lookin' for," Arlie commanded.

  Glidinghawk complied. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he called down, keeping the rifle trained on his partner.

  "Name's Landrum Davis. I'm looking for some folks named Moody."

  Arlie grunted in surprise. He stood up, leveling his Colt at Landrum, and asked, "Who sent you, mister?"

  Coolly, Landrum replied, "Nobody sent me. I came on my own. A fella told me how to find the place."

  "Who?"

  Landrum shook his head. "I don't seem to recollect just who it was. But he told me that the Moodys might have some liquor for sale." His head tilted back, Landrum studied the burly man holding a gun on him and then went on, "You must be Arlie Moody."

  Arlie frowned. "What if I am?"

  "The man I talked to said you were the head man out here, said I should talk to you." Landrum moved his hands slightly. "Is it all right to put my arms down now, since that heathen savage behind the rock there has a rifle pointed at me?"

  Glidinghawk suppressed the grin that tried to pull at his mouth. So Landrum had spotted him. Well, that was no surprise.

  "All right, all right." Arlie waved for him to lower his arms. "Now what's this you're sayin' about whiskey?"

  "If you're selling, I'm looking to buy."

  "For yourself?"

  "I'm opening a new saloon in Truscott. I need a steady supply of good cheap liquor. These cow nurses up here won't know the difference."

  Arlie laughed, that harsh barking sound that Glidinghawk had come to know and despise. "You must be a pretty brave feller to come ridin' out here like this —or a damned stupid one."

  Glidinghawk heard the sound of another horse coming. Neither Landrum nor Arlie seemed to notice it over their own conversation, but the Omaha wasn't surprised when Dirk Moody appeared behind Landrum. His pistol was in his hand, and as he pointed it at Landrum, he yelled up, "Don't worry, Arlie! I got the drop on him!"

  "Hell, I ain't worried," Arlie replied to his brother. "We got the bastard covered ourselves."

  Glidinghawk saw Landrum glance over his shoulder at Dirk. Landrum had to be wondering just what he had ridden into. He probably hadn't known that Dirk was also on his way to the valley from Truscott and would ride into the canyon behind him. Landrum must have uncovered the same information from his end of the investigation —that the Moodys were responsible for distilling and smuggling the illegal whiskey.

  "Look, I came out here to talk business," Landrum said now, somewhat testily. "I don't much like doing it from the back of a horse with a bunch of guns pointed at me. If you don't want to sell any liquor to me, I'll find my supply elsewhere."

  He started to turn his horse's head, but Dirk spurred closer and jabbed the barrel of his Colt into Landrum's back. "Hold it, mister!" he said sharply. "Arlie ain't said you could leave, and nobody get out of here without Arlie's say-so."

  Glidinghawk glanced up at Arlie, saw that he was pondering the situation. With a nod to himself, Arlie finally said, "Back off there, Dirk. Let the man ride on. We got business to talk over."

  "That's more like it," Landrum said, as Dirk frowned and looked reluctant to follow Arlie's orders.

  "Glidinghawk, you come with me," Arlie said. Turning back to the canyon, he called, "Dirk, you leave your hoss and that pack mule and come up here. I want you to relieve Glidinghawk."

  "Aw hell, Arlie, I just rode all the way back from town!" Dirk protested. "And half the way I was followin' this galoot and tryin' to see what he was up to. There's somethin' familiar about him." The burly young man sleeved sweat off his forehead. "I'm tired. I need a drink."

  "You need to do what I tell you, dammit!" Arlie howled. He jerked the barrel of his Colt toward Dirk and squeezed off a round. The slug whipped past the younger man and then whined off down the canyon, ricocheting from one of the stony walls.

  Dirk scrambled to follow orders. Arlie told Glidinghawk to take charge of Dirk's horse and the pack mule.

  When they reached the floor of the canyon, Arlie kept his gun in his hand as he approached Landrum. Landrum looked past him for the barest of moments and let his gaze meet that of Glidinghawk. The instant was fleeting, but it was enough to let both men know that they would play along with whatever the other one wanted.

  Arlie said, "I'll trouble you for that hogleg, mister. Just bein' careful, you understand."

  Reaching across his body and using his left hand, Landrum slipped his gun out and handed it over. "A man can't be too careful," he agreed.

  That was the truth, Glidinghawk thought.

  He and Landrum were both going to have to be damned careful, if they were going to live through this afternoon.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Glidinghawk took the rein
s of Dirk's horse and the pack mule and started leading them down the canyon behind Landrum and Arlie. Landrum had dismounted and was leading his own horse.

  Dirk gave Glidinghawk an angry look as the Omaha passed him. It was clear that Dirk resented the way Arlie had come to trust and rely on Glidinghawk almost overnight. Claude was the same way, Glidinghawk knew. He had no friends here, with the possible exception of Sun Woman.

  And she had been avoiding him about as diligently as he had been steering clear of Ma Moody.

  Was it because she didn't trust herself to be around him? Was she afraid she would give in to her feelings if she found herself too close to him?

  Arlie led the way out of the canyon and into the valley. Glidinghawk couldn't see Landrum's face, but he knew the Texan would be taking in all the details of the scene —the cabins, the sheer walls of the bluffs, the trail on the far side of the valley.

  "Looks like quite a setup you've got here," Landrum said to Arlie.

  "We've worked hard enough for it," Arlie grunted.

  "What'd you say your name was again?"

  "Landrum Davis."

  "Texan, ain't you?"

  "Yep. I've traveled around a lot, but I was born down close to San Antone."

  Arlie spat. "Lots of greasers down there, ain't there?"

  "Too many," Landrum replied with a harsh laugh. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Glidinghawk’s for an instant. Glidinghawk nodded slightly, trying to convey his opinion that Landrum was approaching Arlie with the right attitude.

  If there was some way they could both get out of here now, their job would be over. The army could handle the mopping up.

  But that was unlikely. Arlie might trust him, but there would be limits to that trust. He would probably want Glidinghawk to stay where he could keep an eye on him.

  Which meant he would have to slip out of the canyon secretly. Glidinghawk was confident he could do that.

  But what would happen to Sun Woman and the other squaws when the cavalry came boiling in here to wipe out the Moodys' liquor operation?

  Glidinghawk had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about that.

  The three men walked up to the main cabin. Arlie told Landrum to tie his horse at the hitch rail, while Glidinghawk led Dirk's animals to the corral. He wished he could go on in the cabin with Arlie and Landrum, but he knew he would be expected to unload the supplies from the mule.

  When he had Dirk's horse unsaddled, he untied the box of supplies from the mule and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He went to the back door of the cabin and pushed it open with his foot.

  Sun Woman was in the kitchen. She looked up as Glidinghawk came in, and as usual, she immediately turned her gaze away.

  "Here are the things Dirk brought from town," he said.

  "Thank you," Sun Woman murmured, still not looking at him.

  Glidinghawk put the box down on the rude table in the center of the room, then turned toward the door into the cabin's main room. "Where's Ma?" he asked in a low voice.

  "Ma Moody sit with Benton," Sun Woman told him.

  "Arlie and the stranger are in there alone?"

  Sun Woman nodded. "Claude is out at still with squaws." She glanced up. "You know stranger?"

  Glidinghawk shook his head. "Never saw him until he rode up the canyon just now," he lied. Even though he was sympathetic to Sun Woman's plight, he wasn't ready to trust her with his secret.

  He pushed on through the door into the main room. Arlie and Landrum were sitting across from each other, each of them holding a drink of the Moody whiskey.

  "I brought in the supplies," Glidinghawk said as Arlie looked up at him. "Do you want me to go back to the canyon now and take Dirk's place?"

  "Leave him out there," Arlie replied. "Pull up a chair, Glidinghawk. Unless Mr. Davis here minds talkin' business with you around."

  Landrum shook his head. He had taken off his hat and placed it on the floor beside his chair. He looked relaxed and at ease. "I don't mind," he said.

  "Glidinghawk here is right smart . . . for an Injun," Arlie said. "He ain't been workin' with us for long, but he's come in handy a few times."

  "Thanks," Glidinghawk said dryly as he pulled a chair over to sit down.

  "He's one of them educated Injuns," Arlie said with a grin.

  Landrum raised his glass and nodded to Glidinghawk. "To your health, sir."

  "I'd return the toast, but I'm not allowed to sample the white man's firewater."

  "Now, I explained that to you, Glidinghawk," Arlie said. "You redskins just can't handle the stuff. I don't mind sellin' it to them bucks up on the reservations, but I ain't goin' to have no drunken Injun workin' for me."

  "It's all right, Arlie," Glidinghawk told him. "You and Mr. Davis just go on with your business."

  Arlie turned back to Landrum. "Just how many barrels do you think you'll be needin' when you get this here saloon of yours open?" he asked.

  For the next few minutes, Landrum and Arlie discussed their potential arrangement. Knowing Landrum as well as he did, Glidinghawk had a feeling that the Texan was making up the details of this saloon deal as he went along. But everything Landrum said made sense, and it was unlikely that Arlie would see through the ruse.

  Greed had warred with caution inside Arlie, and the desire for a new steady customer had won. When Landrum said, "I think we've got a deal," and stuck out his hand, Arlie shook it happily, a broad grin on his ugly face.

  Now Landrum could get out of this place and head back to Truscott with the information he needed to wrap up this mission. All that would be left for Glidinghawk to do would be to get out of the valley himself.

  The Omaha heard the back door of the cabin open and heavy footsteps cross the kitchen. Claude Moody pushed into the room, his usual frown on his face, and Glidinghawk suddenly remembered what Arlie had been talking about out there in the canyon.

  Claude had had trouble in Truscott with someone that Glidinghawk thought was likely Landrum Davis.

  And now Landrum was sitting right here in the cabin, a big grin on his face.

  Claude's surly gaze fell on the newcomer, and recognition flashed in his eyes. "You!" he spat.

  His hand flashed toward the gun on his hip.

  Glidinghawk launched himself out of his chair as Arlie yelled, "No, Claude!" Landrum ducked to the side, his hand instinctively slapping at his empty holster.

  Claude's pistol was just clearing leather when Glidinghawk rammed into him. The Omaha's shoulder drove into his belly, knocking him backward. The hand holding the Colt flailed wildly as Claude fell, and the heavy weapon blasted.

  Glidinghawk landed on top of Claude. His fingers grappled for the wrist of the other man's gun hand. Glidinghawk got a good hold and twisted, and the gun dropped to the rough planks of the floor.

  Arlie lunged at Landrum and grasped his arm. "Hold it!" Arlie barked. "Glidinghawk's got him!"

  Claude was still struggling. He was bigger than Glidinghawk, and the Omaha realized he was no match for the other man in a brawl. He had to strike quickly and end this battle in a hurry.

  Glidinghawk released his hold on Claude's wrist and brought his elbow across sharply, the point of it slamming into Claude's jaw. At the same time, Glidinghawk drove his knee up into Claude's groin.

  A shriek of pain erupted from the man's mouth. Glidinghawk raised himself enough to get some striking room and lashed out with his right fist. The blow caught Claude on the chin, snapping his head back to bounce against the floor. Claude sighed heavily, and his body abruptly sagged.

  Glidinghawk rolled away, springing to his feet in case Claude wasn't knocked unconscious. He saw right away that that was an unnecessary precaution.

  Claude Moody was out cold.

  Glidinghawk lifted a shaking hand and wiped it across his mouth. If Claude had ever gotten those bearlike arms around him, he would have squeezed until breath —and life —were gone.

  Glidinghawk glanced up and saw Arlie and
Landrum watching him. Both men were tense, ready for violence.

  When more came, it was from an unexpected source. The door to one of the bedrooms slammed open, and Ma Moody came rushing out, hair in wild disarray from the haste with which she was moving.

  As her eyes fell on Claude, stretched out on the floor, she screeched, "Claude! The Injun done kilt him!"

  Glidinghawk knew what was about to happen and darted for the door. He didn't make it before the old woman landed on his back, clawing and scratching and biting. He let out a yelp and tried to twist around to get his hands on her. He didn't want to hurt her, but she'd rip his eyes out if she got the chance.

  "Ma!" Arlie yelled. "Claude's all right, Ma! He ain't dead!"

  Ma Moody paid no attention to her oldest son. Glidinghawk was about to lose his temper and hit the insane old woman when Sun Woman suddenly appeared beside him. She wrapped her arms around Ma and gently but firmly pulled her away. The old woman's weight seemed not to bother Sun Woman as she carried Ma toward the kitchen.

  Arlie grabbed Glidinghawk's arm and rapped, "Come on! Let's get out of here."

  He hustled the Omaha out onto the porch, Landrum following closely behind them and shutting the door. Glidinghawk leaned on the porch railing and tried to catch his breath while Arlie demanded, "What the hell was that all about?" He swung to face Landrum. "Why'd Claude throw down on you, mister?"

  Landrum's muscles were still tensed. The potential for more trouble was still in the air. "I guess he recognized me from Truscott. I had a little run-in with him the day I arrived in town, about a week ago. I didn't know until just now that he was your brother, though."

  Arlie nodded. "I reckon I heard about that ruckus. Claude always was one to go on the prod when a stranger come around."

  "It didn't amount to anything," Landrum told him. "There was no shooting, not even a punch thrown. Come to think of it, your other brother was there, too. I thought I had seen him somewhere before." He nodded toward the line of bluffs on the south side of the valley.

  From the canyon, Dirk came running, his rifle lifted, ready for trouble. As he pounded up, he gasped, "I heard a shot! What's wrong?"